


Restless

by thelilnan



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dreams, First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, Office Sex, Pining, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Fantasy, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 15:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilnan/pseuds/thelilnan
Summary: Jonathan starts having dreams about Martin.-Set vaguely in season 2; no plot spoilers.





	Restless

“M-Martin…!” Jonathan gasped suddenly, his back arching sharply upwards and his breath ragged as he reached his climax.

It took him a minute to ease down from that euphoric high—for his muscles to relax, his breath return to normal, and his mind to clear. It came much more slowly than usual, the pleasure from his orgasm having an unusually powerful effect on him this time around. Maybe it was because it was the first time since the Prentiss incident at the Archives that he’d been able to get aroused at all, having been too preoccupied with paranoia and trauma to do anything sexual, even alone in the dark of his bedroom, as he was now. It must’ve been that.

But then why did he call out _ Martin’s _ name?

He hadn’t been thinking of the younger man. He normally didn’t give Martin much thought at all, save when he would pester him about this or that inconsequential detail about filing and research; things a man of nearly 30 should be able to handle on his own. At the same time, it wasn’t as if Martin was unattractive. Jonathan had noticed it once or twice before, as one does; passively and without reaction. Martin was handsome in a boyish way, with kind eyes and a soft jawline that made him seem so much younger than his years. But Jonathan never found himself dwelling on this beyond casual notice; and more to the point, he _ certainly _ hadn’t been thinking about him now as he had finally reached climax for the first time in almost a year. He hadn’t really been thinking about anything at all. His mind had largely been blank, save for the occasional formless thoughts of feminine shapes but nothing definite.

And certainly _ not _ Martin.

Jonathan sat up, hand sticky from his release, and reached for the bottle of water he kept by his bedside. He’d taken to waking up gasping for air more often than not and he found drinking water steadied his partial apnea. He took a few healthy gulps then, mind racing in the dark as he tried to figure out why he had gasped Martin’s name of all things. Beyond the superficial admission of Martin’s attractiveness and his own physical desperation for orgasm, he could find nothing. But honestly, this was the least troubling phenomenon that had happened to him in quite some time. Bottle of water now half empty, Jonathan lay back once more and let sleep wash over him.

He didn’t dream.

-

“Jonathan—”

“_Martin! _ Jesus, knock will you?”

Martin blinked sheepishly, though it was really the only way he ever blinked, “I… had—er, I just need you to sign off on these forms.”

“Oh?” Jonathan’s hackles lowered imperceptibly, regarding the papers in question with an increasingly common level of skepticism. They were expense forms, approving charges to be incurred during an extended trip. For a moment, Jonathan felt his heart drop, “Are… are you going somewhere?”

Martin seemed surprised at the question, a faint blush highlighting his cheeks, “Wh-what? No, it’s for someone called Sam. You’re their immediate supervisor. Elias asked them to do some sort of research trip. Funny, really, since you’re normally the one disappearing around here—not that that’s funny. Er...”

Jonathan frowned, looking the papers over. They were indeed for someone called Sam Kleinberg, who had apparently been working in the Institute for over a month, though the nature of their position wasn’t made clear on the forms. As such, the name held no familiarity. Jonathan shot a look to Martin, trying to gauge if he was in a similar position of ignorance. Martin’s face was unreadable underneath its usual sheepishness.

Jonathan signed the papers and handed them back, “I’m relieved it’s not you.”

“Wh-what,” Martin sputtered, trying to keep the papers together in his wavering grasp.

“Just… enjoy having you around the archives, is all.”

If Jonathan had watched Martin’s face a bit more, he would’ve seen the unmistakable flush bloom across his cheeks. As it stands, he had already returned to the tape recorder, ready to restart his archival of yet another statement. Martin left without a word.

-

_ Jonathan was in his office. It was hot and stuffier than usual, but it was it office. Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t… right, somehow. And God, it was so _hot.

_ Martin was there. He didn’t say a word, and Jonathan barely acknowledged him, but he was there in the doorway, fluorescent lights flickering dimly behind him. And then he was behind Jonathan, at his desk, just a breath away from his back. Jonathan kept working on his laptop, digitizing and archiving files, trying to ignore Martin’s presence but it was impossible. He could practically feel him on his back; his warmth was overwhelming the stuffiness of the office, and his smell… well, it was nice. It was pleasant, soft, inviting. Jonathan felt slightly drunk just by getting the wafts of whatever cologne Martin was wearing and he was overcome with the deep desire to pull Martin onto the desk and shove his face into the younger man’s neck. _

_ Now Martin was leaning against his back, pointing at something on the laptop screen. He was saying something; he must’ve been. He had to have been talking. Jonathan could’ve sworn he was talking, or maybe that was just his lips grazing over the shell of his ear. He could feel it now; Martin’s nose just barely ghosting the side of his neck where his pulse was throbbing. Jonathan couldn’t breathe anymore. Everything smelled like Martin. He could swear he even _ tasted _ him— _

Jonathan woke up to sticky pants and an immeasurable headache.

-

“Jon, have you seen—oh, Christ,” Tim scrunched his nose, exaggerating his disapproval with Jonathan’s appearance as only he could. The man in question looked up, eyes darker than usual.

“Not getting any sleep, I take it.”

How could he when every time he closed his eyes, there was Martin, or a fantasy’s shade of him, provoking all these feelings he thought he wouldn’t have to deal with since his pubescent years had their way with him? Everything in the dreams was white hot and threatening to tear him apart at a moment’s notice. Worst of all was that the content of these dreams was never anything more than a lingering touch, the ghost of a breath on his neck. The one time he’d dreamt of the two of them kissing—nothing more than a peck—had him writhing awake, shaking from the most powerful orgasm of his life.

“Not much, no.”

“Spiders, eh?”

Jonathan thought for a moment.

“Yes. Awful things.”

-

_ Jonathan was gasping for breath. He was pinned down in his chair in his office, door ajar and light filtering in from the hallway. His fists were clenched around the arms of the chair, nails digging into unbidding wood. His shoulders shook and his heels dug into the floor as Martin knelt before him, eyeing his cock, hard as hell and exposed through the fly of his trousers. He didn’t touch him. He didn’t even meet his gaze; he just looked his cock over with quiet consideration and oh, how Jonathan positively _squirmed.

_ “Martin—” Jonathan panted. It felt like talking underwater; dull sounds pounding against the atmosphere, barely audible over the rushing white noise in his ears. Martin ignored him and leaned in close to the head of his cock, lips almost brushing the crown. Jonathan could feel his breath, warm and wet, and shook terribly. He wanted so badly to be inside the younger man’s mouth, to feel that soft heat take him down and clear all this trouble from his head. _

_ Jonathan wheezed and tried not to fall apart. _

_ “They’ll hear you,” Martin said. But he couldn’t have said it. He wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes were closed; long, beautiful lashes flushed against this blushing cheeks. He was breathing against Jonathan’s cock in soft pants, apparently hellbent on trying to kill his immediate supervisor while completely and utterly ignoring him. But it was Martin’s voice, right there in Jonathan’s ear. _

_ It was, wasn’t it? _

_ Jonathan tried to call for the younger man again but found he could barely get enough air into his lungs to do so. His chest was caving in, collapsing like a dying star, and he was drowning now beneath hot, crushing waves. Outside his office, in the hallway filled with flickering, fluorescent lights, footsteps approached. Jonathan tried to turn his head to see who it was, tried to gather his trousers back up and hope that he and Martin could continue this later, but he found his body trapped, like his limbs were filled with stone and sand. All he could do was try to breathe, try not to thrust up into Martin’s open mouth, try to _ think _ — _

_ “You want them to hear you,” Martin said. Or did he? He was looking up at him now, hazel eyes sharp and bright. Jonathan shook desperately under his gaze. _

_ “They’re going to find you.” _

Jonathan awoke with a jolt as he sullied his pyjama trousers, his whole body covered in a light sweat. He gasped, coughed, and struggled for breath under the racking sensation of orgasm washing over him like the thick, powerful waves of his dream. He fumbled for his water bottle, gulping water down to steady his choked, labored breathing as soon as he had grabbed it.

Once his breath returned to normal, Jonathan chucked the bottle away and buried his face in his hands. He hadn’t had a dream like that since university; certainly not one so intense, nor so _ real. _ He could’ve sworn Martin was right there, between his thighs…

“Stop,” he hissed at himself sharply, “Don’t even dare think about that again.”

But he couldn’t talk himself out of the low, dull ache of wanting growing in his chest. The dream had seemed so real. He could’ve touched Martin’s hair, shaggy and soft under his fingers, guided his wet, open mouth down—

“Stop it!” Jonathan clenched his jaw until it ached.

This couldn’t continue.

-

“Martin,” Jonathan almost, but not quite, cornered his assistant at the coffee pot in the break room. Martin had actually been using it to boil water for his tea (and a cup for Jon, just in case, because _ that _ was Martin, not whatever sexual creature Jonathan’s subconscious had conjured up for the past fortnight), “Are you busy for lunch?”

The younger man looked surprised, maybe even excited, though Jonathan couldn’t be sure why. Martin was so eager to please everyone,, bending over backwards for the most ungrateful of coworkers, Jonathan included. So the Archivist wrote off Martin’s rapt attention to that unbridled desire to be universally liked. It was easier to ignore the giddiness bubbling up in his chest that way.

“O-oh, no. I mean, I was going to listen to a podcast at my desk or something but, er, yeah. No. Yes. I’m free?”

Jonathan nodded, pretending his cheeks hadn’t already flushed a humiliating shade of pink, “Why don’t you eat lunch with me?”

“_Really?_”

“Yes,” the Archivist forced a small smile, “I’m trying to get better at trusting people again,” he lied through his teeth, “I thought having lunch together might help.”

“Oh,” Martin breathed, excitement unwavering, “Yes, that sounds great! What a good idea. Should we eat here? Because, er… Elias…”

“Ah, well, that should be fine. He’s got better things to watch during lunch than the two of us chat.”

“He eats lunch, right?”

Jonathan paused, realizing he had never seen Elias eat anything, “… Best not think about it.”

Martin frowned ever so slightly and handed Jonathan one of the two mugs of tea he had prepared some minutes earlier. They’d be steeped fully by now. Jonathan took his mug—a blue and white speckled one—without another word and went back to his office. And if his cheeks flushed just a bit darker than usual, well, he could always blame it on the tea and not the feeling of Martin’s eyes on the back of his neck.

-

It was around noon when Martin knocked gently on the frame of Jonathan’s doorway. Jonathan looked up, feigning surprise at the punctuality of his assistant. Truth be told, he’d been aware of Martin hovering just outside the door to his office for some minutes now, somehow _ feeling _ the anxiety and apprehension of the younger man leaching through the walls. He couldn’t imagine why Martin would be so nervous; they’d had lunch together before, though it hadn’t been exclusively them, they hadn’t been in his office, and it had been long before any of this world-ending nightmare began. Still. He thought he had made his intentions clear during his invitation. There was nothing to be scared of, surely.

“Hullo,” Martin offered quietly, holding up a tupperware full of what Jonathan assumed to be his lunch, “Ah, I’m not too early, am I? We didn’t set a time but I thought noon would make sense?”

“Hi, yes,” Jonathan confirmed, gesturing to an email he’d been composing, “Just finishing this up. You can pull up a chair, if you like.”

Jonathan watched the younger man do just that as he typed some random nonsense into his email draft, nowhere near close to sending, and closed his laptop. He’d lost his ability to concentrate on work about an hour ago, when he realized lunch was approaching and thus, so was Martin. Presently, Martin fumbled with his tupperware, hands trembling just enough to notice, and Jonathan was overcome with… _ something. _

His dreams about Martin had been getting steadily more intense over the past few nights, leaving him trembling with euphoria and with lurid visions of the younger man stuck in his head for the rest of the day. Though Jonathan considered himself a professional through and through, there was only so much he could endure before the mere sight of his assistant had him blushing like a schoolgirl. If he was particularly unlucky and the dream had been particularly vivid, he’d have to excuse himself from the room before his body could react. God, he’d been reduced to a _ teenager _ by all this.

Obviously, this had to stop.

Cue Martin, still fumbling with his lunch and trying desperately to spark up a natural-sounding conversation. Really, how had the younger man gotten anywhere in life if he was this nervous in front of his immediate superior? Jonathan couldn’t imagine him talking his way into the Institute as he claimed he had, falsifying his CV and qualifications to _ Elias _ of all people. He could barely keep eye contact now, and this was just lunch.

He tried his hardest not to be smitten by the display.

“So,” Jonathan broke through Martin’s stammering with his own awkward pauses and verbal clumsiness. At least he had an excuse for his skittishness; _ sorry I can’t seem to keep my eyes off you, it’s just that my brain and body have utterly betrayed me for the last fortnight and convinced me that I desire you physically and romantically. But stranger things have happened, I suppose. Is that curry you’re eating? _

“Is that curry?” Jonathan eventually managed, resolutely ignoring the heat in his cheeks building as he watched the younger man eat what was unmistakably leftover curry.

“Oh, yeah,” Martin confirmed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Got some from a place near my flat last night.”

“You like Indian food?”

Martin nodded, mouth full of yet another bite. He was beginning to get flushed, Jonathan noticed, though it was probably from the spice.

“I might know a place,” Jonathan continued before he could stop himself.

_ Are you insane? You’re trying to get over this… _ whatever it is_, not ask him out! _

“We could go after work sometime?” Martin offered and if Jonathan didn’t immediately suspect his own hormone-addled brain for skewing reality, he might’ve called the look in his assistant’s eyes ‘hopeful.’

“Maybe,” Jonathan replied uneasily. _ A date? No, no, no! _ “Er, more to the point, as I said before, I wanted to get to know you better. In an effort to trust my coworkers again. Obviously it’s been… hard,” Jonathan tried not to let his voice stutter too much, watching Martin absently lick his lips as he listened to him, tongue tracing his lower lip for remnants of the curry sauce, “Er… it’s been difficult, with… everything, really. But I think if I just get to know everyone as _ people _ rather than coworkers, it might make things a bit more hospitable around here. Does that make sense?”

Martin nodded easily, “Absolutely, yeah. You should come out with Basira, Melanie, and me sometime. They’ve been showing me around the pubs in the city. It’s been nice.”

Jonathan paused, a little disappointed to hear people at work had been socializing without him. He supposed it made sense, as he was technically their boss, but still, the loneliness hit him far before the jealousy of Martin spending extracurricular time with anyone besides him did.

“That… sounds lovely,” Jonathan managed, “But, ah, right now, I’d like to know a bit more about you.”

Little did Jonathan Sims know what floodgates this might open. He had never really thought of Martin as the loquacious type but then again, he’d never really asked him for anything more than where a statement was or if he would run down to artifact storage for him. As it was, Martin had quite the mouth on him. Jonathan listened patiently, watching that mouth form the words, listening to the easy kilter of his accent, trying (somewhat hopelessly) to find the banality in his monologue that would remind him that Martin was _ not _ a viable romantic partner. He just wasn’t. _ He can’t be! _

“... About that time, I’d joined a football league at my primary school but my mum said I was too passive—hang on,” Martin ceased his rambling for a moment, taking in the sight of his superior. Jonathan blinked owlishly, hoping Martin was not about to point out how utterly taken he’d looked just a second prior, “Where’s your lunch?”

Jonathan blanched and looked down at his desk. Had he not brought his lunch to work today? It was possible, he realized, that he’d been so focused on this scheme to make himself fall out of lust with his assistant that he’d left his food at home. Though to be honest, it wasn’t anything spectacular anyway; just a simple ham and cheese sandwich with a package of crisps. He hadn’t really been paying attention when he packed it. It’s possible the crisps weren’t even in his bag.

“I think I left it at home, actually.”

Martin’s eyes grew wide with concern. Hopefully he wouldn’t comment on the fact that Jonathan had actually planned to just stare at him for an hour while he ate his lunch.

“Oh dear,” Martin eventually said, looking down at his own food, “Er… would you want to share? It’s quite spicy but there’s enough for both of us…”

Jonathan hesitated. He was hungry, of course, but there was a distinct sense of impropriety in taking Martin’s lunch. But here he was offering, scooching the tupperware towards the middle of his desk, mumbling something apologetic about only having one fork, as if he should’ve somehow prepared for this. Jonathan wrinkled his nose slightly, internal monologue berating him for his oversight, the awkwardness of the situation, and the fact his heart couldn’t stop fluttering. Betraying none of this, he took the plastic fork Martin had been using. The curry was as rich and spicy as Martin had assured. It was almost enough to distract Jonathan from the fact that Martin had had this same fork in his mouth not a moment before.

“It’s good, thank you.”

They passed the fork back and forth as Martin continued on about his life, his hobbies, his pets; anything and everything Jonathan could have possibly wanted to know, as if he’d been waiting years for the opportunity to tell him. As much as Jonathan tried to keep the conversation focused on Martin, his assistant would often volley questions back to the Archivist and Jonathan felt absolutely cornered by Martin’s attentive gaze. It was a special kind of hell; nothing like the literal Lovecraftian horrors he’d been dealing with for the better part of his year. It was a sweet agony that made him ache deeply for more, whatever it might mean. It troubled him, that his plan to get over his crush was backfiring so spectacularly. The more Martin talked, the more helplessly smitten Jonathan became. It was all he could do to not melt into his chair, gazing longingly at his assistant as he talked endlessly of his early childhood in Liverpool.

Eventually, Martin had the last bite of the curry and their time together was drawing to a close. The volley of conversation had made its way back to the Archivist and Jonathan had been talking a bit about his grandmother. Martin listened attentively while toying with the plastic fork in his mouth, bright hazel eyes still gazing at him in a way that made Jonathan feel absolutely helpless. He found his voice drifting off into nothing as Martin continued nibbling absently on the prongs of his fork. Despite himself, Jonathan couldn’t help but stare, watching his lips and tongue curl around the curry-stained plastic and _ really? _ He was getting bothered by _ this? _

God help him.

The two men sat there for a long, quiet moment, watching each other in some kind of haze before Martin’s digital watch beeped. It was 1pm. Lunch was over.

“Ah,” Martin said somewhat uselessly, gesturing to the watch, “Time’s up.”

Jonathan couldn’t agree more. He ran a hand over his flushed cheeks, hoping Martin hadn’t noticed in all that time they spent gazing at each other.

“This was really nice, though,” he continued as he cleaned up his tupperware. The fork was tossed into the small waste basket next to Jon’s desk, “I had a really good time.”

Martin paused, then added somewhat cheekily, “Maybe next time you can bring me lunch.”

Jonathan’s voice caught in his throat. _ Next time. _Would he even survive that long? It’d taken so much willpower not to give into whatever his subconscious desires had been building him up towards; pulling Martin over his desk and snogging the life out of him. There was no way he’d get through another lunch without shattering completely.

“If you like sandwiches,” he offered lamely. Martin giggled and Jonathan bit his tongue.

“Sounds good to me.”

Martin’s smile could rival sunshine itself. How had he never realized that before? Why did it take all these lurid dreams and fantasies to make him see how utterly perfect the younger man was? He tried to reason with this feeling of helpless devotion, the need to worship him and soak up every ounce of his presence and attention, but it was useless. Maybe now that he was making his exit, Jonathan could at least deal with the physical effects in the privacy of the restroom. The implications of this were obviously mortifying but Jonathan decided he would rather live with the knowledge that he had wanked at work than deal with an erection for the rest of his work day. It would at least be less distracting that way.

However, he had been so distracted by processing these decisions that he hadn’t realized the trajectory of both his and Martin’s paths out of his office. They both stopped short of actually bumping into each other, though they had come close. _ Too close, _ maybe. Jonathan’s eyes went wide, realizing their proximity and was overcome with the need to reach out, close the distance, to _ touch— _

“Jon?” Martin ventured, having attempted to make some sort of useless ‘traffic jam’ joke at their little faux pas. Jonathan was flushed a deep red by now, eyes wide and wild. He looked damn near feral, “... Are you okay?”

_ No. _ Jonathan thought miserably. He attempted to say _ something _ but what could possibly explain any of this behavior other than being hopelessly over the moon in love with his assistant?

“I… oh, sod it,” Jonathan sighed and gave into what he’d been fighting desperately for the last hour, if not the last few weeks.

He kissed Martin.

It was _ incredibly _ inappropriate. He knew it as soon as their lips touched and his hands cupped the younger man’s face but it felt so damned _ good _ to finally touch him. Jonathan pulled away, quickly as anything, about to apologize when he heard Martin’s tupperware clatter to the ground and felt himself pulled back in for a second, much deeper kiss.

Oh… _ heaven_.

Before he could stop himself, his fingers dug into Martin’s thick, somewhat shaggy hair and canted his head just so to deepen the kiss. He felt Martin sigh beautifully into him, his hands coming to Jonathan’s waist and digging in just as deeply. They stayed like that for a bit longer than they should have—though really, they shouldn’t have been doing any of this at all—just making out in the doorway of Jonathan’s office like it was a completely acceptable thing to do.

Before Jonathan realized what was happening, Martin’s hands had strayed. He’d already pulled his shirt from his trousers, warm hands running up his back experimentally as they kissed. Jonathan moaned, the skin-on-skin contact alighting a new fire within him and he pushed forward against Martin, hips colliding. Then Martin groaned softly into his mouth and Jonathan swore he could have died right there.

It was only when Martin’s hands made it to his belt buckle that Jonathan was able to snap out of his haze. He broke the kiss sharply, drinking in the sight of Martin’s flushed cheeks and his kiss-bruised lips. He wanted to continue, to kiss and bite dark bruises into the man’s neck, shoulders, chest and stomach, but he had to get a grip on himself. Fuck’s sake, they were practically in the hallway.

“M-Martin, stop,” Jonathan pleaded in a rough voice. The younger man was still fumbling with his belt, “We can’t do this.”

“We could, though,” Martin countered, quiet as anything. Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment before continuing.

“It’s _ entirely _ inappropriate.”

“So’s kissing your employee,” Martin teased. He wasn’t wrong. The moment he laid hands on his assistant, he was eligible for some serious sexual harassment counseling, likely a dismissal. But it didn’t seem like Martin was likely to report him, given how he was still eyeing his mouth like he wanted to bite his lower lip. For that matter, the Institute’s HR department hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the Archives. He wondered briefly how any of this madness would’ve read in a report.

“_ Yes, _ but—ah, hey!” Martin had gotten his belt and zip open and was slipping a hand inside. Jonathan finally let go of the younger man’s face, grabbing his wrists instead and holding them tightly together. He could only hope he looked as frustrated as he felt, rather than flustered and wanting, “We’re at _ work. _”

“Right, right,” Martin ducked his head sheepishly, “Sorry…”

“No, it’s okay,” because God knows he couldn’t stay mad at Martin looking like _ that _, “I… owe you an explanation, I think.”

“For… what?”

“For kissing you?”

Martin canted his head, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, “Well this was a date, wasn’t it?”

It felt like the world dropped out from under Jonathan in that moment. _ A date?! _

“I-It was lunch! Between colleagues, I said that!”

“We shared a meal,” Martin pointed out quietly, “A fork, even. We talked about hobbies and interests and our childhoods…”

_ Christ. _

Here Jonathan had been, so convinced of his plan to dissuade his affection for his assistant that he failed to consider what he was actually doing was, by all standards, a date. He’d had a date with Martin. And they’d followed it up with a heated snog in the doorway, both clearly keen on taking it that much further and had they been at a restaurant and walked one of them back to their flat, God knows where it would’ve gone. He couldn’t dwell on that now; he was hard enough as it was, being so close to Martin, having his hands on him, his lips, and for God’s sake he was half dressed in the doorway of his office!

Tackling one of these things, Jonathan moved the two of them out of the hallway and kicked his door closed. Martin’s posture straightened up immediately, eyes wide, bright, and hopeful.

_ No. _ They needed to _ talk. _He wasn’t about to fuck his assistant in his office like some kind of lecherous supervisor in a bad porno. Like he’d have Martin underneath his desk, doing whatever he liked as Tim or Elias came by to talk—

He’d gotten distracted. Martin broke free of his grasp and was back on him, kissing his neck and running his hands over his stomach and hips once more. Jonathan gasped sharply, grabbing at Martin’s shoulders to either steady himself or pull the other man back, he wasn’t entirely sure which.

“Martin, _ please_,” he tried to wrestle control back but Martin misunderstood him and kissed him again, properly, and Jonathan crumbled beneath him.

_ Why fight it? _

_ Isn’t this what you wanted? _

_ Someone could walk in. _

But then there was Martin’s tongue in his mouth and his hands in his shirt and Jonathan’s own hands were pulling at Martin’s tie and buttons and thighs were slipping between thighs and Jonathan felt the edge of his desk press tightly against his legs. It didn’t stop, though. Martin and Jonathan tore into each other’s clothes like they were dying for the other. Nothing came off, however. Not really. Just pushed out of the way, rucked up, or shuffled down as need be. In a way it made it better. It felt more real.

_ Someone could walk in. _

It occurred to Jonathan somewhat distantly that while the door to his office may be closed, it wasn’t locked. He could still see the flickering, fluorescent lights in the hallway and the vague shadows of passers-by. Someone _ could _ walk in, and then what would they see? Him bent backwards over his own desk with Martin lavishing attention on him like he was some precious thing. Martin standing between his thighs, hips just barely nudging his own, their erections separated only by the fabric of their pants. Jonathan bucked his hips up rather uselessly, unable to really get any leverage with his feet on the ground from his position on the desk. Instead, he squirmed and pleaded for Martin to touch him.

Hadn’t he just said this was a bad idea?

But then Martin sunk to his knees, hands rubbing worshipfully over Jonathan’s hip bones and over the waistband of his pants, fingers hooking into the elastic and slowly, carefully skirting the fabric down. Jonathan was panting loudly by now, chest heaving and mouth open, eyes wanting. Martin met his gaze with his own, his hazel eyes dark. His pants were almost off now, just catching on his erection, and Jonathan was close to yelling with exasperation, _ please—! _

And then he woke up.

He was in his bed, in the darkened quiet of his bedroom. The clock beside him announced that it was 3:30am and he had, woefully, had yet another dream.

_ But it felt so real. _

Exasperated and too tired to fight it, Jonathan slung an arm over his face and shoved another hand down his pants, gripping his cock tight enough to hurt. A broken whimper escaped him and after only a few strokes, he came, gasping Martin’s name as he did so.

He lay there a moment, unsure if he would rather scream or cry. It had felt so real. He’d talked to Martin, learned about his family, his life before the Archives, shared a curry with him, _ kissed him _. But chasing these memories only put a deep ache in his chest for something that simply was not real.

On his bedside table, his phone buzzed with a text. It was Martin, because who else would it be?

_ >> sorry abt the time. had a weird dream about a statement? dont know if its real or not. remind me to ask you about someone called Sam Kleinberg tomorrow! _

Jonathan squinted at his screen in the dark of his room, running the name over in his head a few times. Honestly, the text didn’t even require a response, especially not at nearly 4 in the morning. He had half a mind to just toss the thing back onto his bedside table and try to go back to sleep without thinking about Martin or the Archives any further. Something was definitely going on, supernatural or not, and he was so very fucking _ tired. _

On the other hand…

_ >> We’ll talk tomorrow. Free for lunch? _

**Author's Note:**

> The Sam Kleinberg thing is something of a red herring. there's no explanation, Jon, you're just gay.


End file.
